


Saying Goodbye

by JacksHorriblePA



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthur’s gone and John is sad, Arthur’s journal, Depression, Heavy Angst, Implied Relationships, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Reincarnation, Sad character, mentions of Dutch’s famous plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 03:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacksHorriblePA/pseuds/JacksHorriblePA
Summary: A heavy moment of quiet contemplation for John as he sits atop the hill above Beecher’s hope, suprised at being visited by an old friend.





	Saying Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn’t really meant to be a story or anything but I kept thinkin’ about it so I figured why not post it. I also recommend listening to ‘Thats the way it is’ from the game to maximize the sad feels.

John sat atop the grassy hill above Beecher's hope. Having finally dealt with Micah and Dutch, his heart was aching and weary at watching his chosen family fall apart in recent months. He looked down on what he, Charles and Uncle had built. A life, a future for him and his family. What Arthur had spent his last dying breath fighting for. He sat cross-legged underneath a tall tree, the rough bark digging into his back.  
In his hands he had an old leather journal, dry and worn from months of use. He opened it, his fingers sliding across its pages, feeling its age.

It was Arthur’s. One of the last remaining remnants of an outlaw, sure to be forgotten on the pages of history. He’d dogged Arthur endlessly about having a journal, believing it to be an insignificant object, a waste of time to spend his few free moments writing or scribbling away. But John knew what that was like. To have so much emotion building up inside of you, so much grief and anger and with no outlet but violence. He’d sometimes read over Arthur’s shoulder as he scribbled away, watch as he emptied his feelings onto paper, Arthur’s calloused fingers holding the pencil so tightly, his face twisted in concentration. 

Now, Arthur is gone and John has taken it upon himself to finish the journal, attempting to replicate Arthur’s drawings and daily entries on his own. But it didn’t feel the same. The sun was setting over the Great Plains and John’s eyes drifted to the horizon, making out small, black dots on the distant hill— Bison. He’d never get over the quiet simplicity of nature, the peace it brought him. No fighting, no war, no Pinkertons, just the world as natural as could be. His hand lifted to touch at the rough lines that crossed his cheek, a reminder of how nature could sometimes be dangerous too. 

John scribbled away at the journal, his drawing abilities nowhere near as good as Arthur’s had been but he was content with what he made, deciding it was alright as he would be the only person to see the journal and its contents. The wind picked up and blew the pages of the book, the corners curling over his hand as he tried to hold his place in the book. He huffed out a tired sigh and closed the journal, deciding it was getting too late to still be out writing. He slid the journal into his satchel and his eyes drifted to the sky above him. 

The leafs of the tall tree above him were flowing steadily at the pace of the wind. He reached up and pulled down his dusty cowboy hat, shutting his eyes underneath it, just listening to the rustling leaves around him. 

John was hurt. He felt lost. The family he’d become a part of, that he’d known for so many years had fallen apart before his eyes and he had spent so much time in denial about it, believing in Dutch and all his plans. The many times he’d seen Arthur talking back to Dutch when he’d preach of loyalty made his blood boil. How could a group survive like this with a lack of loyalty? Believing the principals taught to him by Dutch throughout his life, that was his mistake. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he’d decided to think for himself a little sooner, if he’d just left before things got so bad, maybe more people would have lived, maybe Arthur would still be here. 

John had a family now, a ranch if you could believe it, which he hardly could. He’d remembered the time him and Arthur herded sheep back to Valentine on a job— Arthur asking him if he’d fancied himself a shepherd. John brushed it off as a simple jab, Arthur always poking fun at his “bright ideas”. He hadn’t considered himself a farmer or a rancher but here he was, giving his family what they wanted, and what he needed. A break from the outlaw life that was sure to get them killed. 

He was a damn fool and he knew that, but if there was one good thing he could do in his life, making his family happy was sure to be it. 

John was startled out of his thoughts by a rustling in front of him, his hand shot up, pushing his hat back up to the top of his head. The other reaching down for his holster and readied to aim and fire at whatever had caused the disturbance so close to him. His heart rate had shot up and his muscles were tense as his eyes scanned the tall bushes and thick grass in front of him. 

His eyes finally landed on the source of the disturbance. A large buck had wandered a few feet in front of him, probably not even noticing John as he sat silently under the shade of the tree. It was getting late and he’d figured it was about time for creatures to be on the move. Foxes and coyotes howling and barking in the distance. The plains were always so much more alive in the evening with nocturnal animals making their way to the surface to hunt or harvest. 

John exhaled a long sigh of relief at the sight of the deer, his muscles relaxing and his shoulders slumping down once again. His expression softened and he relaxed his jaw, feeling a bit dumb for getting so worked up over a harmless animal. 

He stared at the deer, only a few feet in front of him and it stared back. It’s large doe-eyes fixated on John, searching him for any sign of hostility or ill-intentions. John guessed he’d passed the deer’s test as the animal’s gaze fell from him, resuming it’s slow search of the ground beneath its hooves and picking at little shrubs and pieces of grass that it found worthy of eating. John tried to resume his previous thought process but couldn’t seem to remember what he was thinking about, having been so abruptly shaken from his mind by the presence of the deer. He’d thought about scaring the deer off, returning his peace and quiet for him to think but decided against it, deciding that the deer probably deserved as much peace as he did. 

The deer began moving closer to John, it’s expression becoming more curious about the man in front of him. His heart clamored against his chest, thumping to the beat of his own anxiety. He was, of course, startled at the sudden close proximity to the wild animal, knowing that it was relatively harmless but still wary of it. Being a wild animal means that it is unpredictable. He cautiously scanned it, it’s tense muscles and brown fur sliding as the deer slowly moved towards him. 

It was now mere inches from John’s feet as the deer lowered its head to sniff at his boots, huffing hot, moist air on the dark leather. John thought it odd that it would come so close to him. Deer have so many natural predators, humans certainly being one of them. 

Why wasn’t it afraid? 

His eyes drifted to the large anglers atop the deer’s head, anxiety returning in his chest as he was reminded of the power behind the animal that was now so close to him. 

The buck gave him one last once-over before slowly walking beside him, past him, and stopping just before heading into the bushes a few feet away, turning back to give one last look at John— it’s large Doe-eyes staring into the cowboy’s before disappearing into the thick shrubs. 

John smiled as the deer disappeared, completely leaving his line of sight, not even hearing its hooves snapping twigs as it trotted along. 

“Goodbye, old friend.” John whispered as he stared into the bushes. A soft, worn smile making its way to his face. 

His mind no longer burdened with the anxious thoughts that he had only a few moments ago, as he felt tiredness pulling at his body. He stopped to admire the horizon one last time— the beautiful shades of purple and orange twisting together behind the setting sun, with bright light warming his face. John pushed himself up, dusting the grass and dirt from his pants and making his way down the hill back to Beecher's hope. The small, content smile never leaving his face, tired but feeling lucky to have been visited by the old, grizzled outlaw, just one last time.

**Author's Note:**

> WOO don’t read this at 1:00 am while listening to The RDR2 soundtrack because you’re gonna cry, not that I know from experience or anything....
> 
> I also apologize if there were any mistakes or spelling errors, as this was a quick-write and I didn’t take much time to read through it.
> 
> But, of course, if you enjoyed then please leave kudos!


End file.
